Stop Putting Things in my Microwave
by GoingMyOwnWay
Summary: In which Firion overhears Squall say something random, gets grossed out and Zidane is at high risk of being killed by an angry lion. Rated T cause I can't remember if damnit is bad or not...


Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nopity, nope. Copyright isn't under my name so while I play with the characters, I don't profit from them.

 **Please Stop Putting Things In My Microwave**

Squall was considered to be quiet. Taciturn. He spoke rarely so when his low tenor was heard, most of his friends and family paused to listen.

…and when what he had to say sounded absurdly random? Well, that was an invitation to eavesdrop.

Their group of ten had gathered at Squall and Cloud's place to study for their respective exams. At one point, Firion had needed to go outside to take a phone call. On his way back in, he'd overheard Squall's voice and began to strain his ears in response.

"Please," Squall uttered, sounding as though he was pinching the bridge of his nose; his classic stance when fed up with those around. " _Please_ stop putting things in my microwave."

Firion's face blanked into a deadpan expression as his feet abruptly turned to concrete and stopped moving. A disbelieving "What?" floated through the shocked expanse of his mind. Wrapping a hand around the flaky-painted door, he peeked into the kitchen.

Squall stood in the middle of the room, feet firmly planted at shoulders-width on the creamy tiles of the floor. His back was ramrod straight, tensed by the irritation coursing through his body as his hands clenched into fists, jammed sharply into the flesh of his hips. Firion couldn't see his face as Squall stood with his back to the door, but he didn't need to. He knew exactly was kind of glare Squall bore on his face. He had been so aptly named when it came to that stormy glower that sometimes, one had to wonder if his mother had been psychic.

Firion's eyes followed the direction Squall was facing to a short figure hunched sheepishly by the microwave…the microwave that was billowing a gentle waft of smoke and currently stinking to high heaven. With a faux-innocent expression, Zidane was clearly trying to get out of trouble. Again….and the smoking black mass just visible through the tinted glass of the microwave door was a sure culprit.

"No harm, no foul?" Zidane ventured weakly, arms crossed casually behind his head.

"No harm. _**Way foul**_." Squall hissed in response. Zidane cringed away, instinctively trying to appear smaller. "My microwave is not for drying your socks!"

Oh.

 _ **Eeeew**_.

"You put your socks in the microwave?!" Firion blurted. Both men spun around to look at him. "Damnit Zidane!" He continued, his face taking on a greenish hue while his stomach started to roil queasily. "We heat our food in there!"

Squall's eyes flashed as horror slowly creeped further onto his face. Firion remembered belatedly that Squall hated microwaved food and used his microwave solely for reheating cold cups of coffee.

"My bad?" Zidane offered, slowly inching towards the back door, pale fingers stretching to grasp door handle.

"You," Squall growled out in a decidedly lionish fashion as his fingers curled around a steak knife. "You. Owe. Me. A. New. Microwave!"

Zidane's piercing shriek as he flung himself out of the door drew the rest of the group to the kitchen. Cloud and Cecil thundered down the hall and skidded to a stop next to Firion, just in time to see a snarling Squall dash outside.

Firion patted a confused Cloud's shoulder as everyone else began to crane their necks, trying to look around the trio. "Do everyone a favour. Trash the microwave."

Stunned silence greeted his statement. The other seven students slowly turned to stare at him wide-eyed. Firion swore he could see the letters 'WTF' in their eyes. The silence lasted until Zidane screamed outside, alerting Firion to the fact that Squall had either caught him, or got close enough to take a good swipe at the short blonde. 

The scream shook Cloud out of his stupor. Cloud shifted his gaze to the microwave, eyeing the charred heap inside warily for a moment. With a sudden burst of speed, he stalked over to the microwave and unplugged it. Yanking it off of the kitchen bench, he tucked it under one arm and headed for the trash bin. The spiky haired blonde had only one thing to say as he passed Firion.

" _I don't want to know."_

 **終わり**

No Zidanes were injured in the making of this fic.


End file.
